


meet in the middle

by jadedlemon



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Compliant, M/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23378863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadedlemon/pseuds/jadedlemon
Summary: Juno Steel is so determined not to blow his last chance with Nureyev. To take things slow, do things properly this time. To not screw up like he did last time around.Only it's considerably harder to do when Nureyev is wine-drunk and stubborn and still hurting. Juno is in for a long night.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 14
Kudos: 226





	meet in the middle

**Author's Note:**

> me: hehe drunk nureyev make funny drabble  
> me 5 days, 8500 words and a world of pain later:
> 
> this is set somewhere post-man in glass, pre-shadows on the ship! who knows where

It's a simple job, one they've pulled off enough times already to know the score. Nureyev jumps into one of his many flawless skins and wraps every guest at the party right around his little finger with his sweet talk and his sly smile. Juno keeps his distance and tries not to get himself in trouble. Juno watches Nureyev as subtly as he can (not, he thinks, very subtle at all if his heart has anything to say about it, but that can't be helped), and makes sure Nureyev doesn't land in any trouble, either. It's just like the last job, only this time there's no Monsieur and Madame Dauphin - they blew that cover straight out of the water at Zolatovna's ball. There's no gold dresses to match gold-embellished suits, no false 'love's or 'honey's that Juno almost wishes were real, no dances and dips and light squeezes between lighter fingers that Juno knew so well so long ago. 

He wishes he could say there's none of that tension, either. No coldness, no being cut off at every interaction, as though Nureyev had taken a pair of scissors to his own heart and neatly trimmed Juno out, and then stuffed that Juno-shaped hole with ice so he could never fit back into it. No desperation to apologise, to give to him on a plate every word he's ever wanted to give to him, to just say  _ something  _ that will decide once and for all which side of the knife's edge they stand on. He can't say any of that, because despite their eventual conversation, despite their new and much more distant cover of business partners, it's all still very much there.

But ice can be melted with time. Juno just has to let it. Try not to do anything that will freeze it over again, or force Nureyev to replace it this time with solid stone.

Juno had poured his soul into his voice in the dim light of Nureyev's bedroom. He had let the tears well in his eye and his hands tremble with the force of holding them back. He had seen the same emotion in Nureyev's eyes, in his hands, any time he dared to look for it. Nureyev had been silent for a long while. All Juno got was a soft nudge against his thigh and an uncertain response. "These things take time, Juno."

"Right. Yeah, of course they do," he had replied hurriedly to drown out the noise of his own heart pounding (though if he listened closely, he thought he could hear Nureyev's, too). "I just... I've said my piece. So whenever you're ready. I'll listen to yours."

And then it was closed doors and closed hearts and business as usual again.

Juno has already spent far too many hours, some lower than others, letting himself feel. Lying in bed (if he even made it that far) and wondering if he would ever see Nureyev again. Knowing he didn't deserve to, but hoping all the same. Running every possible scenario through his head - would he forgive or forsake him? Would they ever get back what they had? Were any of these trains of thought worth the ache in his chest knowing they would never come to pass, that he had thrown Peter Nureyev out of his life already and would never get the chance to find out? But that little stroke of luck or string of fate that keeps pulling them together gave him one last shot at this. A shot he never deserved, a shot he should have discarded if only for the sake of Nureyev's dignity, but a shot he would not mess up again. So, maybe all that feeling was worth it after all. Maybe it lets him take the first steps towards rebuilding. Not what they had, but something new, something better.

It won't work if they can't meet in the middle. Juno is already making his way across that bridge. All he can do now is wait for Nureyev to step on from the other side.

Leaving Nureyev's room that night, giving him time had sounded like the ideal solution. Juno had allowed himself just a few tears, just out of relief, just as soon as he was back in the relative safety of his own bedroom. So many different results had danced circles around his mind since the second he saw those doors open to emerald green and a fox's smile in the middle of the Martian desert. Some of them were far too self-indulgent to be anywhere approaching the realm of realistic. Some of them were a long dive into a slippery slope he was not prepared to throw himself down so easily this time. All of them hurt, in different ways. This was a happy medium.

But now he's wrestling with his own impatience. He won't give in to it, won't shake the tightrope they're walking by stepping too hard. It's just hard to watch Nureyev across the room, all smiles and sweeping gestures and wine splashed across his shirt from a little too much enthusiasm, and not wish it were him there with a tissue ready to clean it up.

And damn, that guy's going pretty hard on the cleaning it up. He's practically undressing Nureyev in the middle of the hall. Juno tries his best not to sneer. But a little eye roll from afar won't hurt, probably.

Juno watches Nureyev press a gloved hand to his own cheek in embarrassment, the sheepish smile to match. Acting, every second of his life is acting. Every second, except those precious few he spent with Juno. Juno knows better than to doubt those.

"Let me buy you another drink," Juno reads from the lips of this stranger. "Oh, but I haven't finished this one yet," he sees Nureyev reply, but the stranger is already heading for the bar. Nureyev laughs shortly and gets to work finishing the wine in his hand before his refill arrives. His eyes scan the room as he sips, and they land - as they so often do - on Juno's. The mirth dissipates from his face. His muscles tense, his eyes narrow. Both miniscule changes, but Juno's far too used to recognising Nureyev's tells.

He curls his fingers in a half-hearted wave. He thinks that maybe, he sees the corner of Nureyev's lips tug upwards behind the glass. And then he knocks back half a glass of wine in one gulp, winces, and is right back in character.

Oh, God. That can't be good for him. Thinking back, Juno can't remember ever seeing Nureyev drink more than a few sips of Juno's best whisky in a glass left full and discarded when the two of them found something more, uh, pressing to busy their hands with. That doesn't mean he can't handle himself. Juno reminds himself not for the first time today that there are many things he doesn't know about Peter Nureyev.

Juno has other things he could be getting on with, things that don't involve pining after the man whose heart he broke from halfway across a hall full of people. He gets up, wipes his sweating palms on the silk of his dress, and heads to the bathroom. 

It's Rita he calls from the cubicle, of course. There's no-one else around, but he warns her anyway that he's in public, that anyone could interrupt him at any moment. He passes on what precious little information he can so far - he hasn't had a chance to find out what Nureyev has achieved, yet, but he hopes it's more than he has - and then hangs up in a hushed hurry as he hears the door creak open.

He shoves his comms into his pocket, flushes the toilet for good measure, and bustles out of the stall towards the sinks, trying not to make eye contact with whoever just entered - at least, until he hears a soft noise and knows immediately who it is. Because of course it had to be. His head snaps around to meet Nureyev's slightly stunned gaze. Though he can drop the pretence, he washes his hands anyway, just to keep them occupied.

Nureyev takes a good while to recover. He stands there in silence until Juno turns the tap off. Without the rush of water to bridge the gap, he clears his throat a little too harshly. Heels echoing across the tiles, he perches himself up on the counter and crosses his legs, grimacing only a little at the wet surface he's just sat on. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Do you normally come to the bathroom to sit beside the sink, or is this a special occasion?" Juno's words are too sharp. He tries to soften them with an awkward laugh, a scratch of his neck. It's too little, too late - Nureyev is giving him his strongest side-eye glare, and Juno feels like he's just tripped into a pitfall. He tries again. "I didn't think-"

"No, you didn't, did you." Nureyev cuts him off. Juno feels that ice creeping in again. "You never do."

It smarts. He struggles to keep his tone under control, fails spectacularly with his word choice. "Don't act like you know me."

"You didn't give me the chance," Nureyev quips, turning his attention away from Juno and to his own perfectly manicured nails.

"What's gotten into you?" Juno knows the answer the second the words leave his mouth. He can see it in the wobble of nimble limbs, the ruffle of well-groomed hair, the flush of a face schooled to be cold. He can smell it, too, on his shirt and on his breath. "Oh, wait, I got it. Several glasses of wine." Nureyev only laughs. There's no-one else around still, but Juno steps closer to him and drops his voice to a whisper all the same. "Nureyev, what the hell do you think you're doing? Are you trying to throw away this job? Because if you're not going to take this seriously, we can just pack our things and go, and while we're at it we might as well pack  _ all  _ of our things because I get the sense Buddy  _ already _ regrets letting us into this little happy families situation-"

The look Nureyev casts him is venom, even more so in the way he says his name. "I'm still perfectly capable of doing my job,  _ Juno. _ I have almost gotten what we're here for. It just so happens that the best way to keep this man talking is to keep him drinking."

"Yeah, sure, and the best way to blow the whole operation is to keep  _ you  _ drinking." Juno's gesturing has brought his hand hovering over Nureyev's knee. He draws it back to his side, out of Nureyev's bubble, back to his own. "Look, I know what you're doing. I've been there so many times, and you don't want to start yourself down-"

"Now look who's presuming to know me."

"Can you let me finish one thought?!" His volume rises, cuts through the quiet. He balks, catches himself, lowers it again. "You need to keep your wits about you. No good getting the information from this guy if you don't remember what it is by the time we're back on the ship."

"I'm perfectly witty." Nureyev shifts, turning bodily away from Juno. Without thinking, Juno grabs his knee to pull him back round - Nureyev's hand flies across Juno's, slapping him away with enough force to sting almost as much as the barely-contained rage on his face.

Juno freezes in place, hand still suspended. Slowly, he curls his fingers into fists. If this is the way Nureyev wants things, then fine. The words leave his mouth before he can process them. "Your new friend sure seems to think so."

"Jealous, Juno? Not like you at all. There's plenty of me to go around."

"No. Stop it. I'm getting back out there, and you have to do the same." Juno turns his back on Nureyev, stalks towards the door. "And don't drink any more. You're already somewhere past tipsy and neither of us need that."

Juno can  _ feel _ that sly grin. "Oh, but my new  _ friend _ is so  _ keen _ to buy me drinks, how could I possibly refuse?"

From the doorway, Juno whirls on him. He's lost control now. The old Juno is taking over. The Juno he had never wanted to be again is spitting lava at Nureyev and when it cools against the ice, there comes the stone. Subtlety is out the window, along with the sound of his own voice which almost certainly is carrying beyond the confines of the bathroom by now. "Well why don't you just go home with him then?! Because I'm not carrying you back to the Carte Blanche tonight!" The words aren't his. They're echoing from some distant Juno somewhere other than here. But they sure are his voice, coming from his mouth.

"Maybe I will." Nureyev slides off of the counter, takes a few quick stumbling steps towards Juno that have him pulling back in fear. "Maybe this time, he'll still be there by morning!"

The crack in Nureyev's voice cleaves Juno's heart in two. He tries so hard to pretend he didn't hear it, it wasn't there, Nureyev's words are meaningless tipsy drivel. But he can't look past it, and he shouldn't want to. After so long spent wondering exactly how much he had shattered that glass, how many pieces of him were left among cold hotel bed sheets, now he knows.

But he gave his apology. He cast out that line, the offer to do his utmost to piece him back together. Nureyev just didn't want it.

"Low blow, Nureyev," he whispers, and slams the door between them.

He tries to, at least. The door catches itself before it can slam, sliding gently closed behind him as he tears down the corridor. It leaves him feeling deflated as well as wounded. He scrubs at his eye, sniffs back tears, tries his best to breathe despite how tightly his throat has closed up. He just about makes it outside before his legs give out. He sits down heavily on the steps, presses the heels of his palms into his face until it hurts, listens to himself make pathetic little noises that aren't quite sobs as he struggles for air. He won't let himself cry over Nureyev, not again.

Juno doesn't know how long he sits there, head in his hands, just breathing in the cold night air and trying to kick himself back into something resembling functional. A few guests walk by, coming and going from the party. As time wears on, most of them are going. None of them pay him any mind beyond a confused glance.

It's when he sees Nureyev's new 'friend' leave, with no sign of the man himself, that Juno finally decides to brave the party again.

Nureyev isn't hard to spot. In fact, Juno hears him first of all, raucous laughter the second he opens the front door. The room is considerably emptier now, and there's Nureyev in the middle of it all, radiant and giggling into the back of his hand and talking to no-one in particular but drawing the attention of everyone there.

Juno sighs louder than Nureyev's laughter, and makes his way over to him. "Alright,  _ pal _ , let's get you home."

The laughter is abruptly cut off when Nureyev realises who has approached him. His face falls. Juno doesn't have the presence of mind nor the desire to read his expression right now. He offers an arm to Nureyev, who reluctantly takes it.

He calls Buddy while they wait for a taxi. Juno sits in the same spot he had just vacated; Nureyev, stubbornly, continues to wobble on down the steps and sit right at the bottom. Juno watches his back, as always, but mostly finds himself just watching him pluck blades of fake grass from the ground.

"Juno. Nice to finally hear from you. We'd lost contact for hours, how are things?"

"You're not going to like it," he prefaces. "The honest answer is, I have no idea whether-" The same cycle he goes through every time he brings up Nureyev with the crew. Slip up, catch the name on the tip of his tongue, swallow it down, reroute - " _ Ransom  _ got the information we needed or not."

"And you can't ask him?"

"Oh, sure, I could ask him. But I doubt I'd get a straight answer out of him."

"Right now, I'd rather like a straight answer out of  _ you _ . What's the situation?"

Even through the comms, he can hear her piercing look. He sighs and caves. "Ransom's had at least three large glasses of wine in the past, say, hour and a half, and now he's sat trying to rearrange the lawn. I'm bringing him back to the Carte Blanche, neither of us are getting anything done like this and the party's dying out anyway."

There's a few moments of unreadable silence before Buddy hums. "Yes, that's probably for the best. You know where we're parked. I would send Jet out for you but the Ruby draws quite some amount of attention, you understand..."

"Yeah, no, I get it. I already called a taxi."

"Alright. Take care, Juno. Get him back to us in one piece - and yourself, too."

It's far too quiet when the line goes dead. Juno rubs his temples and spends the rest of the time with his head in his hands, watching Nureyev from between his fingers. He's taken to weaving, which is not a skill Juno ever thought he had, and remains a skill Juno does not think he has. The grass breaks in his hands every other blade.

Maybe time is dragging by, or maybe the taxi is taking its sweet time in getting here, but eventually Juno gives in to Nureyev's gravitational pull and descends the stairs to sit by his side. He keeps enough distance between them that a parade could probably comfortably pass through, but leans slightly to get a closer look at his grassy project. "What are you making?"

Wordlessly and with an almost suspicious side-eye, Nureyev passes him his creation. It's nothing, just a little square of badly-woven green plastic. Juno handles it carefully anyway. "Nice," he says, offering it back to Nureyev.

"I don't believe you," Nureyev says, but takes it.

"You don't have to."

Nureyev says nothing more. If that's the way he wants it, that's the way Juno will go, too. He watches Nureyev's careful fingers fumble over his craft project. It's finally taking shape - into a slightly bigger, slightly better woven square. Juno can't help but smile.

That smile falters when Nureyev, seemingly satisfied with his work, slides across the stone step towards him and reaches for his face. Juno's body goes through at least three distinct and conflicting reactions in the space of a second, a tug of war of leaning into the warm touch amid the chill of the night, and pulling far, far away before it burns him. His heart might be in his throat, or his stomach, or floating somewhere above him having completely given up on him, or maybe balanced delicately in Nureyev's hands.

As it turns out, Nureyev isn't moving to touch him, and Juno is both relieved and disappointed by that fact until he realises what Nureyev  _ is  _ doing. He has the little woven square held in front of Juno's eyepatch, and is squinting at it like he's trying to make a decision. "Oh," is all Juno can respond with, and then, because they're alone out here, "Nureyev..." Wherever his heart ended up, it's doing flips and tying itself in knots and dancing to the tune of Nureyev's lost-in-thought hum.

"No," Nureyev says, and Juno isn't sure whether he's referring to his work, or his name. He sits back, drops the patch on Juno's lap, and wanders off.

Juno is about to follow him, but he's stopped already, standing among the grass and staring pensively down at the flowers sprouting from it. Juno huffs a fond laugh. "Don't go too far. Stay where I can see you."

"Since when... were you my mother?" Nureyev mumbles distantly, but there's no bite to it.

So, Juno braves a gentle retort. "Since you got drunk out of your mind on wine in the middle of a job, I'd say."

Nureyev looks up from his flowers, meets Juno's gaze across the marble banister, and for a moment Juno is sure he messed up again. He pushed it too far, he nudged at already broken glass and shattered it  _ again _ with too much force behind his words. He has to resign himself to this life. To leaving behind the back-and-forth banter they once had in favour of keeping both of them, separately, in one piece. To hurting him in one thoughtless second and getting hurt right back in the next. To tiptoeing around the past and away from the possibility of a future.

And then Nureyev screws up his nose, sticks his tongue out, and sits down on the grass.

It's bewilderment more than amusement that pulls a sharp laugh from Juno's lips. It's the startled realisation that maybe things could be okay, after all. Not perfect, not what he desperately wants them to be, because he's taken his shot at that and it hasn't come through. But okay. And for right now, okay is more than enough.

Nureyev is mumbling away to himself. Juno can't make out the words, beyond something about flowers and eyes. He doesn't let himself wonder what that could mean. He turns his gaze to the stars instead, listening for those soft noises reassuring him that Nureyev is still there. That he's not going anywhere.

Except that they both do need to be going somewhere.

"Hey," Juno calls over to him. Nureyev looks up from where he's adding to the bundle of flowers in his hands. "I don't think this taxi is coming, and I reckon both of us could do with clearing our heads. Think you can manage a walk?"

"Just about," Nureyev yells back, too loud for the distance he's trying to cover. Juno snorts, shakes his head, and stands.

"Let's go then."

Nureyev almost wanders into the road far too many times for Juno's liking. After the third time grabbing his jacket and hauling him back, Juno keeps a hold of it. "No, but you're... you're wasting the fabric," Nureyev whines, and slings an arm around Juno's shoulders instead. "Like this. Better."

Juno doesn't even have it in him to overthink the contact. He's far too busy trying not to stumble with most of Nureyev's weight on him.

They meet Jet somewhere a little further from the public eye, and Nureyev immediately abandons Juno's support in favour of the Ruby 7. Juno is used to this. Even before he had proven to Nureyev that humans are far more capable of betrayal than cars are, Nureyev had always loved the Ruby more than he had loved Juno. He knows his place.

"You most certainly weren't exaggerating." Jet stands at Juno's side as they watch Nureyev coo over the car. 

"I sure wasn't," Juno agrees. "Think we can get him  _ into _ the car, or will we make do with him lounging over the hood the whole way?"

"I do not believe that would be a safe or convenient form of transport."

"Nice intuition you got there. Alright, I got him."

Juno doesn't bother with words. He just takes Nureyev's wrist, pulls his hand gently away from where it's stroking the green metal, and leads him into the backseat to surprisingly little resistance.

"Oh, Juno." A grin creeps across Nureyev's face. He waggles his eyebrows. "What are we doing in here?"

"Going home," Juno answers curtly, dropping his hand but reaching to fix his glasses before they slide off his nose. "Jet's in the front seat, be nice." He doesn't think about what Nureyev's implying. He's in no fit state to be implying anything, broken heart or not.

The streets are empty at this time of night. Still, Jet takes the more inconspicuous side routes. It adds a few more minutes than necessary to the journey, but it's worth the security. Juno spends most of the ride leaning his head against the window. He's tired. He's so, so tired, and he's still tender from Nureyev's slicing words earlier, and more confused than ever on how he's supposed to act around him, how he's supposed to feel towards him. And then he feels eyes boring into his skull, and he looks over to see Nureyev mirroring his position and his hopeless expression against the other window.

Juno softens, forces the tension out of his jaw. "You okay?" He asks under his breath. There's no hope of Jet not overhearing, at least not if he wants Nureyev to actually be able to hear what he's saying, but he can hold onto that pretence of intimacy.

Nureyev just curls his legs up onto the seat and nods. Juno doesn't believe him.

"You'll get dirt all over the Ruby, sitting like that."

"She doesn't mind," Nureyev replies, a slight watery smile tugging at his lips.

Resting on the leather between them, Juno's fingers itch with the urge to reach out to him. Nureyev's hand is on the middle seat, too. It's so close, and at the same time so far away. Juno could just slide his hand over, cover Nureyev's fingers with his own, offer him that little comfort. But would it be a comfort or a knife? Juno doesn't know, so he restrains himself, just in case.

He tries using his words instead. "What happened back there? At the party? The target?"

Nureyev shrugs. "He left."

"Just like that? He bought you how many glasses of wine, got you drunk, and just left you there?"

"Mmh. Four. And yes." Nureyev drapes a hand across his own face, fiddling with his glasses so he can press the heel of his palm into an eye. "Realised he wasn't getting anything out of it, I assume. That I wasn't there for him."

"...I'm sorry."

"Don't be. All you did was... was exist and be... distracting. And sad. And lovely. And outside." Nureyev huffs something that might be a laugh, or might be a teary sniff. "I wasn't interested in him. Well. For the job, maybe." He sits up suddenly, shooting forward, hand dropping millimetres away from Juno's. "I think... I think I said something mean to you. I'm-"

The car slows to a halt. Jet clears his throat.

Juno nudges a finger against Nureyev's. "We're here. Let's not do this now."

The look Nureyev gives him is desperate, lost, more than a little confused. "When?"

"When you're ready. When you're in less of a state."

Buddy meets them on their way in. "Juno, Pete, welcome back. I see things took a bit of a turn for the unexpected." She looks them both up and down, twists her face into some kind of mix of sympathy and bemusement, and continues, "Pete, why don't you come with me for a little while. Let's get some water down you."

Nureyev turns back to Juno instead, and Juno doesn't think his heart can take another crack in it tonight. He turns away to avoid having to see that expression. It's an expression that tells him that Nureyev wants nothing more than to follow Juno around like a lost puppy right now; he knows it well, because he saw it reflected in mirrors and windows so often on his own face just days ago.

"I'll meet you in the kitchen in just a moment," Buddy adds, and her tone leaves no room for disobedience. Nureyev goes. He stumbles into the wall on his way through the door, but at least he goes. "Are you alright?" Buddy says, and it takes Juno a while to realise she's talking to him.

He opens his mouth to reply on autopilot, but nothing comes out.  _ Yeah, _ the old Juno waves her off from somewhere in the back of his mind,  _ yeah, everything's fine. _ The sinking feeling in his chest wants to reply,  _ Absolutely not. I've had too many old wounds reopened tonight and new ones made and I've left plenty of my own across his skin, too, and I don't know who we are anymore. _ But he's not opening that floodgate right now. He's too exhausted to close it again.

"I just... need to sleep," he says after far too long a pause.

"Alright, darling. I'll take care of Pete, don't fret yourself." There's a crash from the kitchen that has Juno reaching for his gun, his body jumping immediately to  _ Nureyev's in there  _ before the fight-or-flight instinct passes and he realises Nureyev almost certainly caused the ruckus. Buddy seems to be thinking the same thing. "I'd best go see to him now. Sleep well."

Juno changes into something more comfortable, in the hopes that not falling into old habits of falling into bed fully clothed would help him sleep. It doesn't. He rolls around hopelessly in a too-large, too-cold bed for as long as he can put up with before he decides it's not happening. Maybe a walk around the ship would help.

He stops in the kitchen for a glass of water. Nureyev isn't there, and there's no sign of the earlier clatter. Buddy must have cleaned up. Juno is relieved to make the assumption that she put him to bed - until he leaves the kitchen and hears voices drifting down the hall.

Well, one voice, in particular. A voice that's familiar but slurred and thick with what might be tears, if Juno's hearing right. His stomach lurches. He braces himself against a wall to stop his body lurching along with it. Glass of water abandoned on the nearest surface, he starts down the corridor towards it. He doesn't think about what he's doing, just lets his feet carry him towards Nureyev, because Nureyev is upset and if there's any way Juno can make things up to him, he will. He will without hesitation.

The door to the lounge is open a crack. Juno lifts a hand to nudge it open, and freezes. He can see Nureyev, lying spreadeagle across a sofa with an arm draped over his eyes, but even from here he can see the tear tracks shining across his skin. Buddy is curled up on the sofa opposite, just listening.

"And I don't... I don't know what's wrong with me, because I can't... I can't decide whether I'm mad at him or in love with him and I just-" Nureyev's chest heaves intermittently with the force of his breathing. "I just want to be able to  _ think  _ straight around him and not be so... so  _ confused _ all the time when he's there and just..."

Silently, Buddy passes him a tissue and lets him continue.

"I'm hurting him. I keep hurting him, and I wish I could tell him where we stand but I don't  _ know.  _ I said something horrible to him tonight and I don't even remember what it was." Nureyev drags the tissue uselessly down his face. "But I don't think he realised... Do you know what he said to me when he came to apologise?"

"I don't, given that I am neither a mind reader nor an eavesdropper, but go on."

"He said 'I don't know if that hurt'. He brought up the hotel room and him walking out in the middle of the night and said he _doesn't_ _know_ if that _hurt_ me." Nureyev's hand goes to his chest, clutches the fabric over his heart. "And I'm sure I don't have to tell you that telling a man you love him and having him walk out on you that night _hurts_. Hearing his footsteps and telling yourself he's only going for a walk, he'll be back soon, _hurts_. Waking up and knowing the bed is empty but checking anyway just in case _hurts_. Leaving Mars alone, leaving behind the best thing to happen to your life and the future that you wanted so badly and that you thought you'd finally achieved, and spending the whole journey wondering if he had ever wanted it at all, if you pressured him into agreeing, how much you pressured him into, whether he ever really loved you-" His voice cracks horribly. Juno's heart goes with it. "It _hurts._ And he didn't even realise."

"I think he realises now," Buddy says softly. Juno sees then that through his own blurred vision, through the door which has crept gradually wider, she's looking right at him. Nureyev hasn't seen him, still with his face hidden under an arm, but Buddy stands and glides across the room to him. "Juno, dearest. I thought you were asleep."

"Couldn't settle," Juno says, choking over his own words. He swallows back the sting in his eye.

Buddy gives him a sympathetic smile, brushes a stray tear from his cheek with her thumb. "You can say no to this," she begins carefully. "But would you mind taking him to his room? I think what he wants right now is just to talk. Specifically, to you. I'm just a convenient stand-in."

"I don't... I don't think this is the right time for us to have that conversation."

"I didn't say Have A Conversation, Juno. Just talk. About anything. The weather, if you like. I hear there's an electric storm due in a few days." She drops her hand. "But if you'd rather not, I do understand."

"No," Juno cuts in too quickly. "No, I... I'll talk to him. I want to."

When he dares look back up, Nureyev is watching him from under his arm. The shuddering in his chest has slowed, smoothed out into deep breathing with only the occasional interruption. He says nothing, lying still as if any tiny movement might scare Juno off.

"Hey," Juno says with a hesitant wave. As if he'd broken some kind of spell with just a greeting, Nureyev sits up sharply, wiping his sleeve across his cheeks and readjusting his glasses. "You wanna, uh..." Juno fumbles for the words, stops, restarts. "Why don't I walk you to your room?"

Nureyev is still unsteady on his feet, though slightly less so by now. Buddy squeezes his arm as he passes, and then heads off, leaving them alone together. "I..." Nureyev begins, eyes downcast, "I didn't want you to see this." He gestures to himself, his flushed and tear-stained face, the wet patch on his sleeve, and sniffles just to accentuate it all.

Juno shakes his head. "It's okay. You're... you're allowed to have feelings."

Nureyev's smile is watery, but at least he meets Juno's gaze again. "I think I have too many of them. Just... just looking at you..." He presses a palm to his own chest. "Makes me feel too much all at once."

"Yeah. I... I get that." To deflect too much attention from the admission, Juno holds out an arm. "Shall we?"

Nureyev takes it.

They walk a while in silence, which seems to defeat the purpose of Buddy's request. So, Juno makes his best attempt at small talk, which he has never been great at at the best of times. "So uh... heard there's meant to be an electrical storm in a few days."

Nureyev only chuckles in a way that suggests that despite his inebriated state, he knows exactly what Juno is trying to do. It's an achingly familiar sound. "Oh?"

"Y-Yeah. Heard it from Buddy. About three minutes ago." Still no response beyond soft laughter, and suddenly Juno is laughing too, at his own inability to hold a conversation and at Nureyev's contagious mirth and at the whole messy situation because if he laughs about it, it doesn't hurt quite as much. "Sorry, I... don't really know what to talk about. It's stupidly late, and I think my brain's inventing some new form of mush as we speak."

Nureyev stops outside his room door, turning to face him, but doesn't let go of Juno's arm. "You don't have to talk about anything. Just... be here. That's enough." He's looking at Juno from under his eyelashes with a depth of emotion that Juno cannot afford to get lost in right now, and yet finds he can't look away from. Nureyev drops his voice, for Juno's ears only. "Will you stay a while?"

"Always," Juno says before he can think it through. Nureyev trails his hand down Juno's arm, lacing his fingers with Juno's, tugging him into his room. Juno squeezes his hand lightly but drops it as soon as they cross the threshold. He closes the door behind him, makes sure it's secure, and leans against it. "This is... just to talk, Nureyev. Or to... to share space, or whatever, if you don't have anything to say. Nothing more. Just to be clear."

"I know," he replies. He's already clambered into the middle of his bed; he pats the space beside him and rearranges a few pillows to sit against the wall. "Come sit."

Tentatively, Juno does so, though not close enough to touch him.

"Oh," Nureyev says after a moment, "I have these." He dives into impossibly deep pockets, rummaging until he produces his earlier project. Discarding the little grass-woven patch on the bedside table, he holds out a handful of crumpled and slightly wilting flowers.

"They're... lovely?"

"Mm. Smaller than I remember. But I still think they would still look lovely on you. Anything would."

" _ On _ me?" Juno plucks a little blue bud from his palm and tucks it behind his own ear. "Like this?"

It flops over immediately, and Nureyev snorts. "Not quite. Here." He shuffles right back into his pillows and pats the space in front of him.

Juno can't resist him. And it's harmless, he reasons, just as long as it doesn't go too far. He'll sit a while until Nureyev is ready to sleep, and then head back to his own room for the night, and in the morning... well, he'll get to that when it comes. Maybe Nureyev will want to talk once he's sobered up. Maybe he won't remember any of this. No point fussing over it now. He shuffles to sit with his back to Nureyev, taking the weeping blue flower and tucking it behind Nureyev's ear instead as he goes.

With Nureyev's fingers weaving tiny flowers carefully into his hair, it's impossible not to relax. He closes his eyes for just a moment, basking in the touch. Nureyev unfurls his legs, stretches them out on either side of Juno, and Juno can't help but lean back into his chest. He has no idea what his new hair accessories look like, but that's not the important thing here. The important thing is the weight pulling down his eyelids and the floating feeling in his chest and Nureyev's shoulder under his head and Nureyev's cologne surrounding him. He's missed that scent so badly for so long. He's allowed to breathe it in just a little for now.

He wishes he could say it was the scent of alcohol mingling with that cologne that made it so intoxicating.

Eventually, Nureyev's fingers still in his hair. His hands come to rest instead on Juno's hips. Neither of them make any move to get up, save for Nureyev's chin bowing to rest on the crown of Juno's head. If this were any other night, any other Juno, he might have turned his face into Nureyev's neck, kissed the sensitive spots he remembers from so long ago. But this night isn't the right one, and this Juno is so, so determined to get it right this time.

He thinks, from the sound of his breathing, that Nureyev might have fallen asleep. Which means that's his cue to leave. He pries himself out of Nureyev's arms now slung loosely around his waist, and tiptoes for the door.

It doesn't hit him until Nureyev stirs. This scene is familiar.

Juno freezes with one hand on the door's handle. He looks back at the bed, just as he had that night. Nureyev's eyes are open - awake, just like Juno now knows he was that night. Half-asleep and still half-drunk, Nureyev's face crumples. "You're leaving," he whispers, and his voice barely carries across the room.

"No." Juno is back by his side in seconds, a hand on his cheek holding back another round of tears. "No. Honey, I'm not going anywhere. Never again."

Nureyev blinks slowly, a tired smile stretching across his lips. His fingers curl around Juno's wrist. "Good."

Juno can't leave now, not least because Nureyev promptly drifts off still holding onto him. So, he does the only thing he can think to do. He reshuffles Nureyev's pillows, strategically placing some in the centre of the bed to remove any temptation to get too close in the middle of the night, lays down opposite him, takes his hand, and settles down to sleep.

When he wakes, the natural light settings on the ship are filtering morning sun into the room and Nureyev is still sound asleep, curled like an octopus around a pillow. Juno doesn't know what to do except lie there and stare. He can't walk out again. He promised. But now that Nureyev's slept off the alcohol, will he even want him here?

He watches him for a while, tracing with his gaze the curve to his eyebrows, the sharp lines of his jaw, the part to his lips. He's as beautiful as Juno remembers, as Juno has pictured every time he has let his mind wander to the dream of waking up beside Nureyev. And maybe it's not under ideal circumstances, sure, but this time it's not a dream. He's not sure what it is, but if he had to put a name to it, he'd say it's a beginning.

This is what he missed out on, that night back on Mars. On waking up to Peter Nureyev, on being able to wake up to Peter Nureyev every day without this fear, this tentative distance.

Nureyev stirs, rolls onto his back. He doesn't open his eyes - in fact he squeezes them tighter, one hand stretching across the bed to fumble in the sheets, and finding Juno instead. "You're still here," he says. "I was expecting... well. You know."

"I told you, didn't I?" Juno rubs at his neck, turning his face sheepishly into the pillow. There's flower petals scattered across it and it smells like Nureyev.

"You did." Nureyev's voice has a hint of wonder to it. "Forgive me if I found it difficult to believe."

It would sting if he hadn't said it with such reverence. Juno huffs a laugh. "Yeah, that's... fair. But I meant it. If you'll... If it's what you want."

"Mm." Nureyev finally opens his eyes, blinking blearily across the pillow at Juno. "I think I'd like that."

"Whenever you're ready to talk about it," Juno reminds him gently. And then, because he's squinting under the not-particularly-harsh light, "How much do you remember from last night, anyway?"

"Far too much and not nearly enough." Nureyev sits up too quickly, winces and holds his own head. Juno passes him his glasses. Despite himself, he's smiling, hesitant but warm. When Nureyev slips on his glasses and looks up to thank him, he barely lasts a second before turning away again. "You, Juno Steel, are far too bright to look at when you look like that."

"You're just not used to it," Juno says as he sits up. Because the gentle morning and the quiet feelings inside him are giving him courage, he adds carefully, "You... You'll get there."

He waits balanced on that tightrope for a reaction. Nureyev doesn't move for countless heartbeats - and then he laughs, and turns to face him, and crosses the bridge.

"You've still got flowers in your hair." Nureyev reaches out. His fingers linger in Juno's hair far too long, far too close to his cheek for it to be a simple flower-removal. And suddenly Juno is caught in his gravity, everything orbiting around Nureyev and Nureyev only, whatever force that pulls them together easily overcoming the flimsy obstacles he's placed between them. Juno isn't even sure which one of them moved - Nureyev is kneeling in front of him now, but Juno's not entirely blameless in their new, much less distant position.

Resting his hand against Juno's cheek, Nureyev leans in.

It takes every ounce of willpower Juno has to lift a hand to his chest and hold him back.

"Not yet," he mumbles apologetically. He wants this as badly as he now knows Nureyev does, but he knows he's making the right choice.

"When?" Nureyev breathes against his skin.

Gently, Juno nudges him backwards. "When you've brushed your teeth, for a start," he jokes, and then softer, "And... when you've really thought about it. When we're both in the right place to make this work."

"Juno..." Nureyev cups his other cheek, holding Juno's face and his heart between his palms. The ice, Juno realises, melted out with his tears last night. "Juno, I adore you. You've grown so much."

"I... hope that's a good thing."

"Of course. I am so looking forward to falling in love with you all over again."

Juno could learn to live with the feeling that swells and surges in his chest. He might as well. It already happens every time he looks at Nureyev.

"In the meantime," Nureyev quips, draping a hand over his own forehead, and the atmosphere between them dissolves into something everyday, comfortable. "I have a splitting headache, a mouth like cotton, and what feels like a lifetime's worth of sleep to catch up on. Perhaps also a newfound case of vampirism, would you be a dear and turn that light down? I'm going to brave leaving this bed to get cleaned up a bit."

Juno untangles himself from the covers as Nureyev does the same. "I'll bring you water while I'm at it."

"You are an angel upon this spaceship," Nureyev calls back to him and disappears out the door.

By the time Juno dims the lights and returns from the kitchen, Nureyev is starfished across the bed again, changed from last night's crumpled outfit into loose-fitting cotton. He accepts the glass precariously without sitting up, setting it aside for now. "Heavens, I am getting old. I don't remember ever feeling like this after a few drinks."

"Eh," Juno says with a shrug, nudging his leg out of the way to sit on the edge of his bed. "You had a long night."

"And I'm about to have a very short and unproductive day."

"You deserve it." Juno goes to continue, but the words stick a little in his throat. So, he takes his time, mulling over the best way to phrase it while Nureyev sits up and takes a drink, because he has that time now. Neither of them are going anywhere. "And, um, it's not like I have anything better to be doing. If you want some company for a while."

Because in all of their whirlwind romance, all of the running through life-or-death situations and the secrets shared and lived between them and the emotions like dams breaking every time, they never had time for this. To just  _ be _ . To sit together through a quiet morning with no looming job, no-one with a price on their heads, no dangers and no responsibilities. And all things considered, Juno would like to give that a try.

"I think that would be lovely," Nureyev agrees.

Juno clambers clumsily over him and settles back into the nest of pillows Nureyev has created. He takes out his comms with one hand, and with the other stretches and pats the sheets in a way that he hopes reads as a subtle invitation. Nureyev sets his water down within arms reach and takes his cue, shuffling closer and curling into his side, letting Juno's arm loosely circle his waist.

"What's this?" Nureyev murmurs into his shirt. Juno turns his comms screen towards him.

"A game Rita showed me. Look, you have to swap them to match the colours..."

The ship is silent around them, only the ambient noise of engines that they're both well used to by now and the sound effects from Juno's game. With the curtains drawn and the lights down low, it's their own little world. There's nothing but Nureyev's bedroom, Nureyev's steady breathing, Nureyev's warmth by his side, Nureyev's cologne around him like a blanket, Nureyev occasionally reaching for Juno's comms to make a smart move that Juno hadn't noticed, Nureyev smiling up at him every time he proves himself better than Juno at this game.

And maybe, Juno thinks, things  _ will  _ turn out more than okay.


End file.
